A TRIAL OF PRINCIPLE.

MYRA SHERWOOD could not remember the time when "the name of Jesus" had not been a sweet sound in her ears.

Her uncle and aunt were true believers in the Son of God, not merely by intellectual assent to a certain creed, but by living faith in a divine Person, whose life and death and resurrection form the only ground of salvation, whose example and precepts provide the rule of a happy, holy life, and whose likeness and visible presence constitute the "blessed hope" and "unspeakable glory."

Such a faith was also a practical power, influencing all around them, and Myra was more familiar with the motive of pleasing God and honouring Jesus, than with any other by which feeling and conduct can be ruled. It was the habit of her life to do whatsoever she did in that home, thinking first what He would do, or wish her to do, under all circumstances and on all occasions of selection or choice.

If sometimes it might seem that imagination had a share in such decisions, it was a sanctified imagination, becoming the handmaid of principle, and adding attractiveness and pleasure to the subject. The religion of the young Myra was simple and practical, satisfying her heart and employing her hand, while a clear and comprehensive mind saw to it that the faith and the practice sprung from a source that the boldest reason and the most cultivated intellect could never corrupt.

One day, for instance, a gentleman of sceptical opinions, who had called on Mr. Somers as an English resident, turned the conversation into a channel in which he evidently expected to sail triumphantly, to the confusion of all opponents.

Mr. Somers answered him from the Bible with such effect that, smarting under the vexation, the opponent turned his attack on the weapon so skilfully wielded, and brought forward some of the stale, old, oft-refuted objections to the inspiration and authenticity of the Scriptures.

Here again his ignorance was exposed and his conscience appealed to, and before he left the house, he had given a solemn promise to examine into reliable evidences before again presuming to contend against a rock whose foundations he had never fathomed, and a truth whose light he shunned.

"Well, Myra," said Mr. Somers, when the visitor had retired, "what did you think of that gentleman's views? I observed your attention to all that was said."

"I could not help thinking, uncle, of your curiosity drawer in the cabinet. He seemed to have collected a great many odds and ends out of which to construct a theory, but they would not fit together, notwithstanding all the hammering. He may as well leave them in cotton wool, and be content with the masterpiece direct from heaven already in our hands;" and she laid hers on her uncle's Bible. "Why, uncle, even if Christianity were not inspired truth, cannot they see that it is the most perfect, the wisest, the most pure and beautiful system ever seen upon earth, and the most worthy of man's confidence? If it is not divine and true, nothing yet discovered can compare with it, so we will stand by it until something better comes. Surely a religion that never speaks but to bless those who meekly listen, never touches heart and conscience but to heal and sanctify, cannot but vindicate its origin at every step!"

"Right, my dear niece; and those who can estimate the force of such evidence are in little danger from misbelievers. If men would take the Bible for daily guidance, irrespective of all arguments on its doctrines, they would soon find an echo within that would be worth ten thousand arguments, and a witness that could defy all human doubts and speculations. It is not evidence that is wanted, it is humility. Pride hates a superior, and the love of sin detests control. These lie at the bottom of all the unbelief in Christendom."

Myra had learned the secret of that evidence. She had sat like Mary at the feet of Jesus, and had heard His words; and the Holy Spirit had taught her to appropriate them.

Naturally warm-hearted and enthusiastic, she had, while travelling with her uncle's family in the East, trodden with reverence and delight the scenes of the Lord's life and death—stood on the temple's site, traced His steps to Bethany, meditated with solemn awe in "sad Gethsemane," rested by Siloam's pool, gazed upward from the spot where the disciples may have stood when angel comforters came to tell how "that same Jesus," who had just ascended into heaven, should at a future day "so come in like manner as they saw Him go."

She had visited Rome, and seen where early Christians hid and early martyrs died, and where, in later times, Rome papal took up the persecuting sword which Rome pagan had been compelled to drop, and another army of martyrs bore testimony to her right to the titles and descriptions by which she stands denounced in Apocalyptic vision.

How grand, how glorious, she thought, to die witnessing for Jesus, who died for sinners! And often the words of the Lord to His martyr Church came flashing in light before her mind—

"Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life."

But to live a life of self-denial as a member of Christ's body on the fallen earth, amidst its petty cares and temper trials, its frets and worries, its treacherous pitfalls, vanities, and snares, this is another and, perhaps, not a lower thing in the sight of Him who said,—

"Whosoever would be My disciple, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me."

"To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with Me in My throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with My Father in His throne."

This was a phase of Christian life not so much contemplated by the ardent girl, and, in the sweet content of the home hitherto enjoyed, there seemed little fear of any very painful experiences.

The twentieth year had come and gone, the birthday had been commemorated with due honour, the trustees had done their duty well, and Myra was now mistress of her own actions and of her property. Her wise old grandsire had desired to make her independent of all personal effort for maintenance, and to enable her to indulge charitable sympathies to a moderate extent, but he had not designed to make her a prize for fortune-hunters, or the prey of a spendthrift.

There was no reason for any change in her manner of life. To continue as a loved child in her uncle's house, assisting her aunt in the care of younger cousins, to be the friend and confidante of the older ones, and all uniting in works of love and charity among the people where they dwelt,—this was field enough for Myra. And her friends trusted that, if other or higher range of duty awaited her, He who "makes all things work together for good to them that love Him" would in the best time and way direct those "things" for her.

The family party was augmented by the presence of Frank Somers and a college friend, both of whom were on an expedition of pleasure after a hard collegiate term. The former had sought an introduction to his father for one of whose friendship he was proud, and to whom he was indebted for much that had promoted his success and stimulated his exertions at college.

As the friend of their son, Ralph Penwald found a ready welcome from Mr. and Mrs. Somers. And many little expeditions had been planned, and some already enjoyed, which tended to cement the intimacy thus commenced.

One day, the letters and English newspapers were lying, as usual, on the table, waiting the return of the party from some exploring trip. And, after distributing the letters, Mr. Somers took up a paper and sat down to read. A paragraph at once arrested his attention, and he went to seek his wife that they might read it together.

"Drowned, by the capsizing of his yacht off V—, William Haynes, Esq., Marian his wife, and Helen their eldest daughter."

So ran the notice in the obituary.

A longer account of the event went on to tell how the family had gone to the sea-coast for recreation, and how the eldest son had also shared in the catastrophe which occurred, but, by the brave exertions of one of the crew, he had been saved, while all the others, being either in the cabin or entangled with the rigging, had not been found until long after life was extinct.

"Myra must be told of this, Amy," said Mr. Somers. "What do you suppose she will do?"

"We must let her judge for herself, dear husband. I foresee what she will do; and we must not hinder her."

Myra was summoned, and the grievous news tenderly laid before her. With a pale cheek and quivering lip, she begged for the newspaper, and retired to her own room.

Her step-mother, and that step-mother's husband, and her own step-sister Helen to be thus suddenly swept into eternity! Harry and Florence, and the three children of Mr. Haynes, suddenly orphaned!

The paper was several days old; and yet, among the letters, not one to inform her of the calamity, or anticipate her sympathy!

But Myra knew that Christian duty is not dependent upon the opinions or caprices or mistakes of others; it is just doing what we see to be right in the sight of God, deduced from His precepts or example, and often marked out by His providence in ways that we are able thankfully to recognise. Myra saw her way as clearly as if a voice had stated it to her; and, kneeling down, she offered herself to God, for the benefit and blessing of the orphan family, if He would make her acceptable to them, and let His presence be with her in all she should undertake on their behalf.

It might prove that she was not needed; it might happen that some prescribed directions by their father's will might set her aside entirely. But, under any circumstances, Harry and Florence might not reject her sisterly sympathy in the loss of their sister Helen. She (that sister Helen) had ever tried to keep harmony among them, and, left to herself, she would have sought no dearer friend than Myra. But it was not so to be; and every overture now must come from the banished one, to those who had been taught estrangement, if not jealousy and mistrust.

"Dearest aunt," said Myra, when she opened her heart with all its fears and feelings to this true friend, "your teachings and your example satisfy me about your opinion. If you had not pitied the poor little orphan, what might have become of me?"

"My darling, the cases are different in several important points: but yours will be the trying one; mine has been uninterrupted peace and pleasure. I pray that the dear children may receive you as they ought, but it may be long before they comprehend your respective positions, and you may have a trial of patience."

"I seldom have any such trial here, aunt. I am going, perhaps, to test my reality, and see whether the practice of the hour of need will correspond with the theory of hours of ease."

"I expected as much," said Mr. Somers, when informed of Myra's wish to set out for England immediately, without waiting the exchange of letters; "and I fear there is more need than she can suspect. It appears that Penwald knows the name, and visited in the neighbourhood only a few months ago. He says there was then a rumour that Mr. Haynes was what is called 'living too fast'; and some persons did not scruple to comment severely on the purchase of this very yacht. I think he had only one brother, not in such apparently prosperous circumstances as himself. However that may turn out, Harry and Florence are Myra's own connexions, bearing her father's name, and she would not rest without doing her best for them."

"Why, Myra, what wild-goose scheme is this you are after?" cried her cousin Frank. "Surely you are not going without waiting to hear from some of them?"

"Oh, Frank, only think of the confusion and distress this terrible event must have brought upon them! Perhaps Harry is ill after such a shock. The greatest kindness you can do me is to get my passports and set me on my way."

"Whew! It's a shame. It's altogether too bad; isn't it, Penwald? Here's Myra cheating us out of half our plans. She manages everything so well, it will be no fun without her, and she knows it: and she is going to give us all up for a set of people who know hardly anything about her, and care less, to judge by the way they have treated her. I say, isn't it too bad?"

"I am not a competent judge, Frank," said Mr. Penwald, "but to the disappointment it will cause to us all, I can bear full testimony."

Myra turned her eyes upon the speaker. "Oh, Mr. Penwald," said she, "please ask Frank to help me to do right, and not to make it harder for me; he knows—yet, no! He cannot know, what it will be to me if I have to quit entirely such a home as I have had,—such parents and brothers and sisters as I have here."

"I am silenced, Frank," said Ralph Penwald; "I must leave the field to you."

And, taking up his sketch-book, he stepped out on to the lawn, and looked about, but saw nothing. Bay, ships, trees, flowers, all jumbled themselves up together in strange, uninteresting confusion; and a fine airy castle seemed to crumble at his feet.

By-and-by, however, he was made to comprehend that a courier, who had just brought a family to Mentone, was to take charge of two English ladies back to Paris. They were acquaintances of Mrs. Somers, and very gladly agreed that Myra should join their company, promising that she should be safely escorted to the coast. Mr. Somers easily arranged for her reception in England, and attendance on to her destination. The journey was to commence on the following day.

Mr. Penwald felt bewildered. Myra Sherwood was to him the most attractive girl he had ever known. It had been a perfect delight to accompany her on their pleasant excursions, to help gather specimens for her various collections, to make sketches for her portfolio, and do all the kind, attentive things that men can do to make themselves agreeable, without becoming too particular.

Ralph had soon to decide on his life's work. Happily, he had learned and obeyed that calming, restful precept,—

"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding: in all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths."

His desire was to be a minister of the gospel of Christ; and Myra was precisely the helpmeet for such a work. He suspected that she knew more of the practical power of that gospel than he did, and was beginning to draw out her views and feelings, when this unexpected and most disturbing illustration of it was presented before him.

True to their own high principles, the loving friends of Myra's childhood and youth, who could quite as easily have separated from any of their own children, did their part in preparing her for the probable circumstances in which she might soon be involved. They did not press for a speedy return, nor counsel retreat under adverse prospects, but they gave her their earnest blessing, committed her to God's gracious care, and promised to follow her to England, if need arose, and assist her to fulfil whatever duty she should find allotted to her in His "unerring providence and unchanging love."